


Shades of the Sheets

by servecobwebheadaches



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Angst, Canon, Cheating, Drabble, F/M, Fever Party, Future, M/M, One Shot, Realistic, Ryden, Rydon, Sad Ending, Unresolved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-09
Updated: 2015-09-09
Packaged: 2018-04-19 21:19:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4761404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/servecobwebheadaches/pseuds/servecobwebheadaches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The tenth anniversary of A Fever You Can't Sweat Out is right around the corner...and there's a rumored party.  And on the night of said party, when Ryan and Brendon meet again after years of silence, things stray from any plans they had...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shades of the Sheets

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't going to happen, but it's fun to write about, so here it is.

The anniversary party for A Fever You Can't Sweat Out was the night before. Brendon Urie woke up with a ringing in his ears, a throbbing in his head, and . . . A bed that wasn't his own.

The sunlight streaming through the hotel room's window was the first thing that brought a twist in his stomach, the fact that it was eleven in the morning came with another uncomfortable jolt, but Ryan Ross laying next to him was the worst.

He forced himself out of the bed, trying to stay quiet. He didn't know why; when Ryan woke up they would have to talk about it anyway, so there was no point putting it off. But it was habitual to not wake Ryan up.

Brendon's hips popped painfully as he stood up, and it nearly made his knees buckle. He stumbled into the bathroom and closed the door. A mixture of a groan and a laugh escaped his lips when he caught his reflection in the mirror.

His face was covered with smeared makeup, black and red and pink and gold. It was the darkest around his eyes. The previous night's events started coming back to him. It had gone like this:

Brendon showed up at the party in Vegas with a single bottle of champagne, a vinyl copy of A Fever You Can't Sweat Out, and his wife. The place was huge but packed full of people, most people Brendon didn't know or didn't remember.

Sarah and Linda, Spencer's fiancée, had slipped off to the bar together almost immediately. Brendon scanned the faces for anyone familiar to talk to, but didn't see anyone from Fall Out Boy or Panic! At The Disco, and thusly didn't try to find them. He knew people would notice he was there and start coming to him. He grabbed a beer out of an open cooler and planned on going back to Sarah at the bar, but spotting Ryan lurking by himself in the corner changed his plans.

Brendon slipped into the empty space next to Ryan when he wasn't paying attention. It was ironic how Brendon's first words to Ryan after three years were, "Well, you're awfully quiet."

Ryan could have punched him or scowled and walked away, and Brendon wouldn't have cared, not anymore. Instead, Ryan laughed coldly, and said, "You're not much of a talker, either, Urie."

"I guess not," Brendon shrugged, nonchalantly. He wasn't putting up with Ryan's mind games. Never again.

In an unexpected way, Brendon acting carefree made Ryan loosen up a little bit. He offered Brendon a drink, but Brendon responded with, "No, it's my party, I'll get you a drink."

Brendon delivered a speech about all the good memories the record brought back with the success of it all. After that, the night was a blur of too much vodka/beer/rum lethally mixed with RyanRoss/toomanyemotions/ithadbeentoolong.

And now he stood in the bathroom of some random hotel with Ryan sleeping right outside. Nauseating questions flooded his mind. Who's makeup is this and where did it come from? Where is this hotel? Where the hell is Sarah—oh, fuck. Why did it have to be Ryan?

He decided step one was to at least get clothes on before Ryan woke up. With every movement, he would get some drunken memory of the party. With another glimpse of Ryan sleeping, Brendon remembered wrapping his arms around Ryan's neck and saying, "Maybe you're the fever I can't sweat out." With picking up his formal suit off the ground came a blur of Pete Wentz dumping a bucket of glitter over him. Brendon ran his fingers through his hair and found the sparkles as evidence.

He put his clothes in the bathroom and locked himself in. He took a shower with the water as hot as he could take it. He wondered if he should've been regretting sleeping with Ryan, because he wasn't remorseful at all—he just didn't have any desire to do it again.

Ryan was awake and making coffee when Brendon got out of the shower. Brendon was half surprised that Ryan was still there, that he didn't flee to remain silent for another number of years. There were things to talk about, and they both knew it. "Coffee?" Ryan offered, not turning around to look at Brendon.

"No, thanks," Brendon said, just to avoid Ryan's sarcastic comments.

Ryan turned around. "Can we talk?" Ryan asked. Brendon nodded. "I'm not single," Ryan started.

"I'm married," Brendon said in agreement.

"I know that. I knew that just as well last night, too. I don't know why we decided this was a good idea." Ryan wasn't angry. There wasn't much emotion at all in his voice.

"Maybe we had to get each other out of our system," Brendon said.

Ryan nodded. "Yeah. Do you think this has helped us at all?"

"I think it has," Brendon said. "We're not ever going to do that again, but we can't go back to the silent treatment." He tried for a smile, but wasn't successful.

"Brendon," Ryan sighed, "I'm sorry." He rubbed his eyes, glancing at the black streaks that his fingers brought away from his face. "This isn't—"

"Eyeliner," Brendon nodded. "Your makeup isn't nearly as bad as mine was. You should've seen it."

And Ryan was laughing, head tipped back a few inches, the corner of his eyes crinkled. It was genuine, innocent, in a sense. "That was probably my fault. Someone gave me a makeup kit, and you were there . . ."

Brendon was laughing with him. "Well, at least it was you. You've got some idea of how to do makeup. I'm sure I'll see pictures, later."

"You better not post anything on the Internet," Ryan said.

"No, I won't."

They sat in silence for a few seconds. "I'm sorry," Ryan said again. "About all of this."

"It's okay. I mean—" he ran his fingers through his hair, "it's obviously not ideal, but I'm sure we'll be fine."

"What are you gonna tell her?" Ryan muttered.

Brendon took a deep breath. "I won't lie about it. I'm over doing that, and she doesn't deserve it." He looked down. "It's not like it used to be, is it?"

Ryan shook his head. "No. I don't . . ." He faltered.

"Yeah, no, it's just—things don't have to be all weird now, like, worse than before, because this didn't mean anything . . .?" Brendon looked at Ryan for reassurance.

"We were drunk. It didn't mean anything," Ryan confirmed. "I don't want this. No offense to you."

"None taken." Brendon looked out the window at the sunlight. "Do you remember how we got here?" He asked.

Ryan winced. "You wanna go find out?"

"Yeah. I've got to get going, but, um . . ."

"So do I."

They tried not to make it awkward or embarrassing for each other while they checked out of the hotel, still wearing the same clothes from the night before. After searching the parking lot, they found that only Ryan's car was there, Brendon's nowhere in sight. It was more relieving than worrisome for Brendon—it was comforting knowing that Sarah probably took it home.

"Do you need a ride home?" Ryan offered.

"That'd be great," Brendon accepted. He put his home address in the GPS on his cell phone, because neither of them had a clue where they were. A Fever You Can't Sweat Out was blasting through the speakers of Ryan's car when they got it, and Ryan cursed loudly, turning the volume down.

"I haven't heard those songs in years," Ryan said.

"I'm kinda sick of them," Brendon said.

"I would imagine."

"So, what've you been up to?" Brendon asked. They'd probably had a similar conversation the night before, but Brendon couldn't remember.

"Writing, mainly. Just impulsively. Life's been fun, for the most part," Ryan answered.

"That's good."

"What about you?" Ryan asked.

"I've been busy. Writing songs, recording, touring. I feel like I've been living the dream. I got married!"

"Yeah, what's it like?"

"I love it, honestly, I love her. Her name's Sarah, and she's beautiful, and smart, and just fun to be around," Brendon said. Ryan was happy for him, seeing the way his eyes lit up when he talked about her.

"That's great."

"You've got a girlfriend?" Brendon said.

"Yeah, yeah . . . her name's Helena. She's just . . . The best girl I could ever ask for."

"I get it. When did you meet her?"

"Not too long ago . . . we haven't even been together for a year yet. When did you meet Sarah?" They were pulling into Brendon's street, now.

"2008 VMAs. She was dating one of the guys in Paramore, at the time." He stopped himself there. He didn't want to think about how his relationship had been with Ryan, then. They hadn't been speaking to each other.

There was another few seconds of silence before Ryan said, "I did miss you. I still do sometimes."

Brendon didn't look at him. "I missed you too. I just had to let go, though, after so long."

"It was hard. I loved you. And I'm sorry."

"I know. But don't be so hard on yourself, please. We were too young, and under a lot of pressure. It was too much. Don't blame yourself."

"You aren't still mad at me? I was afraid—"

"Ryan, no, of course not," Brendon comforted. "You can call me any time, you know that?" Ryan nodded. "We'll hang out sometime, okay? Dinner or something." Ryan nodded again.

"Thank you," he said.

"Thank you," Brendon replied. "For the ride. You have my number, right?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. Bye," he said, getting out of the car. He was disconcerted by how sad Ryan seemed, but knew there wasn't anything he could do now to change it. He walked into his house, his two dogs immediately jumping all over him.

Sarah appeared in the hallway. "Hey. Good morning," she said, calmly.

"Good morning," he said back, picking up one of the dogs. He found his hands to be shaking with nervousness. "We should talk," he said.

"Okay," she nodded, but she wasn't angry. Brendon wondered how much she knew.

"So—uh, about last night—" Brendon started.

"You know you don't have to explain everything. Your friends told me some stories, and I'm not really surprised. I'm guessing you were with Ryan?" Sarah said. Brendon looked at her with wide eyes and nodded. “Did you sleep with him?” Brendon nodded again, his eyebrows knitting together.

“I’ve always been loyal to you,” he worried. “I love you.”

She smiled grimly. “I know. You were drunk, and so was he.”

He looked at his hands. “You aren’t mad . . .?”

“No. I’m not going to be overly possessive of you. I was a little bit worried when you disappeared after a couple drinks.”

“Who told you?”

"A couple people told me they'd seen you with him, and then Spencer and Pete were happy to tell me all about when you two were together." Brendon struggled to take it as lightly as he wanted to. He wondered if remembering when he was with Ryan would ever not be painful. "But how did it go?" Sarah asked.

Brendon half rolled his eyes. "Sarah . . ."

"No, I'm serious," she smirked.

"I—I don't really remember too much."

"Was it awkward this morning?"

"Kind of. I don't know how it wouldn't have been," he mumbled.

"Did you fight or anything?"

Brendon shook his head. "No, just the opposite. He said he's missed me."

Sarah took his hand, and he gave her a weary smile. "I know that's hard," she said. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"You know, you can invite him over for dinner. If you want to," she brought forward.

"Yeah?" He said, quietly.

He considered, but decided against it, as he always did.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry about the sad ending.


End file.
